


No Concept of Us

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, High School, It's just not meant to be, Jealous Lance, Jealousy, Other, Unhappy Ending, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 23:43:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14272137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Lance is slow to learn the greatest poison is wanting what you can't have. What does he want,what Keith has, what must he lose,Allura,- he is slow to let go of.





	No Concept of Us

**Author's Note:**

> In true me fashion, have another fic that simply exists, not particularly satisfying in any way
> 
> like lance, i too, give up
> 
> inspired by this beautiful song, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xBZzR0dgrE0, that i literally listened to on repeat while writing. it will be the best invested 3ish minutes you've ever spent
> 
> yeah

Not a lot has been given to Lance. He’s worked and he’s torn himself apart for peace in his home. Peace at school. Peace in his own head. He’s fought for grades that will mean jack with a side of squat after he would graduate from school. He’s worked to set himself apart from his brother, his sisters. 

He’s fought for all the love he’s ever gotten.

He’ll tear himself apart trying to tear his eyes away from Allura. _Again._

Lance promises, swears and admits, Allura’s always been too beautiful for her own good. He’ll bet her hair is just as light and glossy as it ever was. How could he even forget how glittery her eyes could get when the light hit them… ever. The light never needed to hit her just right, she was glowing without its help. Allura was always pretty. Lance bets she still is.

He bets the only difference between now and then is that now she’s wearing higher heels. Her cheekbones are probably sharper. 

Keith’s unlikely to have changed much, either. While the rain picks up outside Lance’s window, he runs paper over and over and over in his hands, matching memories to photos. He looks back down to the album. Keith’s hair looks as wily and stupid as Lance could bear to recall, but he hopes for Allura’s sake that Keith has chopped it.

Unlikely.

He looks back out the window. Back to the album. Over to the slip of paper.

Lance continues his amble stroll (thorny trek) down memory lane. 

Once upon a time, he concedes, Memory Lance wasn’t always so wrought with vines. Once upon a time, Lance’s memories were filtered through endless laughter and smiles so wide they hurt. Memory lane used to lead Lance to poolsides and beach walks, to tire swings and campfires and home. Home and memories and laughter have all but been filtered out. 

He can’t remember the last time he’s even pulled this photo album out. 

In this photo Lance mulls over, memories bring him to the thinning grass of an open soccer field. There’s Allura and Keith and himself, all immortalized with open smiles from the camera lens. 

_Oh Keith, please. You’re being ridiculous. Busses come late all the time. It really isn’t that big of a deal._ Allura’s voice rings clear.

_Yeah, Keith. It’s not all bad._ Lance’s own voice rings into the mix. _You get to spend more time with this hot bod._

_Keith couldn’t help but laugh and Lance gesturing up and down his own chest. He shoves Lance’s shoulder, so naturally Lance had to shove back._

_From the sloping side of the soccer hill, Lance and Keith and Allura chat until the bus arrives. Keith pulls out grass to let the shards slip from his fingers. Allura plays with her hair, pulling out the grass Keith dropped into it unaware. Lance sits and smiles and laughs with them, feeling, feeling something_ wrong.

_He shoves that feeling aside._

_Their buddy Hunk comes around to take a photo of them all mid-laugh, and Lance wouldn’t let him go, badgering him until Hunk promised to send him a copy of the photo._

_Then Keith’s bus came. Lance walked Allura home. The feeling went away._

_The day passed._

That was the second day of high school, right? Man, that’s already felt like decades ago. 

He presses on.

The only one not looking stiff and stuffy in the next photo is Allura; like she was born and bred to live in evening gowns. Lance would never put it past her. While she was looking perfectly at home in her sleek, shimmering dress, Keith and Lance couldn’t look any more awkward. Well that’s not fair, Lance has surely looked more awkward before then, but the camera perfectly captures Keith’s unfulfilled desire to rip his suit off his person. 

The winter formal was unkind to many.

_But Keith, you look so charming._

_(Keith had no business to look as flustered as he did by Allura’s words.) Lance retaliates by pinching his cheeks._

_Charming, dashing, swoon-worthy man, you’re going to get all the ladies tonight._

_Lance makes sure to lay it on thick._

_Through thin teeth, Keith says Not really the point, Lance. Then he proceeds to scratch the cheap, rented fabric compressing his… everywhere._

_Lance slicks his hair back with his hand one more time, for good measure._

_The rest of their friends all stand around, making general greetings to other people on the dancefloor, or outright ditching them for the punchbowl._

_Somehow, some time, someone grabbed a camera. Somehow, some way, they were able to corral Lance’s group back together, and somehow some way got them to look at the camera long enough to capture their somehow, some way smiling faces._

Lance sweeps his eyes over the faces of the rest of the group; be it far from him to try to fight over Allura over a night they were all trying to enjoy. 

(Right, yes, Lance would save his fighting for later.)

He remembers each of the party’s faces in sparing details, barely putting names to more than a couple of them. 

He remembers that formal being particularly unkind to him. 

He remembers going home alone, leaving the dance early. 

He turns the photo album to a new page. 

For some reason these photos are out of order? Flipping back to the beginning of the album, all the slots are filled with photos of he, Allura and Keith together in middle school. Then a couple pages after that it was he and siblings just graduating into elementary school. Flipping back to his current page, the scarring days of high school hell stare back at him and he wishes this memory trek were more linear, but-

Wait.

No way.

He can’t believe-

He remembers that being the day he-

How was this photo even taken? Who took it? _Why was this photo even taken?_

Lance nearly slams the album shut, but in his shock he is paralyzed. The rain drones on outside his window. The plastic cover gets smudged from the sweat from Lance’s fingers. He looks back down.

He remembers this being an important day.

Outside, the grey and the black and white are settling, spreading and hazing. The rain falls in sheets and it’s the only thing Lance can do to stop himself from falling into it. Water spatters and _thunk thunks_ against his window, then rolls down down down to the street below, collecting themselves to rivulets, then into puddles. 

Lance can commiserate with the descent. 

The _shhhh_ swallows him whole. He hears nothing but the applauding rain, the shift of the plastic and the puff of his breath. 

He sees nothing but the monochrome sky, the silver bullets of water and the picture before him. 

He’s no longer in the moment.

It all takes him back.

_Inconspicuously, like an ill-kept secret, thick grey clouds descend around him. Lance can smell the change in the air and taste the ozone on his tongue. As the sky darkens, he wonders if he shouldn’t postpone it until a later day, when the sky is clearer. He wonders if should’ve made such a big deal out of it. He’s wondering if he couldn’t have called her, would texting have been okay? He’s wondering if he should be doing this at all._

_He should, he should! He couldn’t betray his helpless, hopeless romantic heart, now. Not when he’s been standing at this field for more than a half  hour already. He can’t turn back for just a few heavy clouds. He can’t be anything less than sickeningly sincere and he can’t, doesn’t want to, think about doing this any other way._

Lance can’t force his eyes, his hands, his mind away. The memory plays on.

_Allura knows exactly which field Lance has asked her to. As a group, he and Allura and Keith would go sometimes together, sometimes alone, sometimes with a full entourage behind them. They would all go, and sometimes they took photos. Sometimes they had picnics. Sometimes they laid on their backs counting muddled stars while curfew passed over and away from their care._

_Lance could think of no better place to do this. The land is saturated with memories; almost consecrated in the way their friends treated it with such sacred regard._

Lance remembers not thinking he had the lead in his pants enough to go through with it. 

_He’s going to will his pants to leaden for him if he can’t do it himself. He can’t_ not _do this._

He can’t.

_Then, from the low-sitting grey, the dewy mist curls around and out of the way for an approaching figure. From this far, Lance just sees a smudged, blackish silhouette approaching him. (There’s only one person it could be.) The moment he spots the person, he waves his arms wide over his head. He calls out,_

_Allura, Allura!_

_The figure stops. Then continues. The closer she comes, the better Lance can see Allura’s long, sleek hair tumbling down her shoulders and chest. Her hair and eyes shine radioactive against the dull sky. Everything but her is so_ grey. _Lance wants her to share her color._

_Lance would… like to know why she doesn’t seem as excited as he is?_

_He still waves to her, but she walks no faster. She walks no slower. Allura doesn’t call out Lance’s name, but he’s not letting anything take away this chance. Not the swelling clouds, not his smothering hope, not Allura’s mysterious face._

_Then finally, she comes into view. Her expression gives nothing away. Lance doesn’t know, and isn’t sure he wants to know what to make of it._

_She stops in front of him. Finally,_ finally, _Lance can take his chance._

_He’s so ready._

He can’t stop. 

_He’s got this whole thing already memorized, so the only thing he needs to do is open his mouth and get himself going. He’s further emboldened by Allura’s soft hand on his arm, and it’s all the permission he could want._

_Allura, he begins. You don’t know… you don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to do this. Or maybe you do, but I digress. I’ve been wanting to do this for way too long, and I wanted you to know that in case you thought I had some kind of revelation coming into high school, or you thought I saw you in a better light. I mean, I guess I have. Metaphorically speaking. And not better, but different._

_Oh Lance, she sighs._

_And it’s a good different, Lance continues. It’s different because I think I’ve always loved you._

_Oh_ Lance- _more insistent, Allura says._

_It’s true, I always have. Obviously it’s a different thing when we were kids, but. Allura. We’re not kids anymore. And I think that, you know, with even more time we- he gestures his fingers back and forth- this could be something even more special._

_This time, Allura doesn’t qualify her sigh with any words at all. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t seem like she even wanted it to leave her lips. The sigh just… leaks out._

_Lance lays it all on the line._

He can’t he can’t he can’t, he _shouldn’t_ , but-

_Allura. I- I hope you feel the same? If you do then, would you-_

He _shouldn’t_ -

_Do you want to go out with me?_

_Allura’s expressionless face cracks and breaks. Her hand slips from his arm. Her sigh and her tone leaks, fills and drowns them both. With her voice, clearer than the mist around them; with her eyes, heavier than the clouds above them; with her expression, more even than the erratic pulsing within him, she says,_

_You must know I love you, too._

_Somehow, Lance already knows to mark that the point where it all goes wrong for when he remembers this moment, later._

_He already hears the “but”_

_I love you dearly, and your friendship has meant so much to me. You mean very much to me, so I don’t want you to think me cruel when I say anything next._

But why. _Why_ can’t he look away, think against, turn the page, turn the page _turn the page,_

_I love you too, Lance._

_The more she says it, the more Lance thinks he should be hurt._

_In any case, he’s too dazed and numb to feel much of anything else._

_But I… my affections are towards another. She rubs her wrists, then gasps. She looks up at the overcast sky, then looks down a the wet spot against her hand. She continues speaking, perhaps more rushed, I’ve been dating Keith for a couple months, now._

_Lance…_

_What?_

Turn the page.

_He almost didn’t catch it the first time, but he likes having strings attached to his heart, so he doesn’t ask her to repeat._

_Allura doesn’t repeat, but she elaborates. We didn’t tell anybody because we weren’t sure how long it would last, and we didn’t want the rumors, the gossip, the drama._

_Right, right. Lance remembers how Keith likes to pretend he has any sense of privacy. At a high school._

_Another drop of water spatters against Allura’s arm, so she doesn’t wait for the shower to pick up._

_I’m so sorry, Lance. Please forgive me for not trusting you with this or telling you sooner. Please don’t think ill of Keith, either. I would hate for anything,_ anything _to come between the three of us. Once more, for good measure, she looks up to the sky. Then locks eyes with Lance before she takes her leave._

_I’m sorry, Lance._

_She turns around and walks back into the rising, simmering mist. Slowly, softly she blends in again with the silver horizon. The moment she’s out of view, the floodgates open._

_The rain doesn’t bowl him over. It soaks him where he stands._

Outside, the rain wages on and Lance finally snaps himself back to real time. He snaps the photo album shut. 

The last details he can dredge up is knowing he had just enough sense to call his mom to pick him up. He knew his big sister was already in the car with her.

Ah. 

The photo was probably her.

Lance thinks its so comforting to know that in his moment of great anguish, his sister can be counted on to capture his exquisite suffering.

It’s comforting to know that sometimes, hurt can never really be healed, only drugged or sutured or unaddressed enough to dull the pain.

Pain. 

Right.

Now, Lance might be brought to the present time enough, but his mind is still taking him somewhere _else._

The vines wrap him up and choke him down and he is at the mercy of his own recollection. 

He’s at the mercy of how sharp he remembers his girlfriend being.

He cries _I wish you were mine,_ and the rain crashes _for winter blows_ and his mind will never let him forget the woman’s unwilling to forgive.

Lance thinks it fair.

Lance thinks about the moment too much.

_He doesn’t remember feeling much of any extremity after the winter of freshman year._

_After he asked Allura out._

_After the winter of freshman year, he can’t think of a day he didn’t wish Allura was his. He doesn’t remember ever not being jealous of Keith after that moment. He doesn’t remember his jealousy being so potent, but apparently Plaxum had thoughts otherwise._

_A double date! Allura had chimed. I’d always hoped to do this; this is so nice. Don’t you think so, Keith?_

_Lance thinks unbearable PDA would have been better than whatever Keith is doing right now. He’d rather seethe with the incensed anger that comes with seeing Keith stroke Allura’s arm, or kiss her cheek, or push her hair behind her shoulder._

_No, instead? What Lance sees is so much worse. Plainer. Colder._

_He could have handled the touches and looks and gazes that comes with couples, but that’s not what Keith is. That’s never what he’ll be._

_He makes Lance sick and_ broken _with how genuinely in love with Allura he is._

_Plaxum can see him breaking before her._

_Gently, kindly, like the good girlfriend she is, Plaxum reminds Lance that she’s right there. Sitting next to him. At this double date._

_See, at this point Lance has had nothing more than flings, relationships nothing more than little worth up until now, and now is college. College has brought no extremities to him, either. Even his jealousy stays in medians._

_Plaxum could tell the lack from within him, too. To be fair, it wan’t like he was trying to hide it. Yet throughout the date, he didn’t bother to hide his wandering eyes. There was only one place they would land and it was curiously never near Plaxum._

_She could tell the grey and the… without from within Lance and she got angry. She got frustrated. She got impatient,_

_Why can’t she excite Lance, either?_

_She was beautiful and clever and genius yet Lance could never truly look her way._

_Plaxum was the first, but not the last lover to call him lazy._

_He knew they were meant to break. He knew she could see his heart. She knew who he was really waiting for, and it wasn’t her._

_They both painted their faces and tied on their masks for the sake of the double date, but once it was over they said no more._

_She would never forgive him for not trying more._

Plaxum had said no more to him, and Lance couldn’t bother himself to find either relief or indignation.

It simply was.

If anything, the date between the four of them only served as another thorn to hook Lance down.

_He can’t remember a day he hasn’t thought of Allura, since._

Lance had thought he could play his cards right. He had everything all planned out. 

What he envisioned was simplicity in spades. Fate was going to work in his favor.

What he planned was to stay as close to Allura as long as he dared. As long as he could bear. He made it so that he would be the shoulder she could cry on, which she sometimes did. He made it so that he could be the mind and the voice she could banter with, which he sometimes was. What he projected, was that he could stay so close, so near to Allura that she would see where she went wrong.

Where she went wrong by Lance.

How she went wrong by choosing Keith.

What he saw was a change of heart. 

What Lance saw was that someday, somehow, _some way,_ there would come a time for Lance to redeem himself. Where Lance could show Allura what he was really made of. When Keith would hurt Allura so bad, he would screw up in such a way, that he would do or say or act against Allura that she would finally see. 

Lance waited for Allura to see what he saw in himself. 

He waited a long time.

He waited for Keith to mess up. He thought he could stay so near Allura, Keith would finally back down. 

But fate turned her back on Lance.

And in his hand, he crumples the paper further.

Lance kept waiting, but Keith never left the picture. Allura’s eyes never left Keith’s. He never backed down, she never gave up, and there was nothing they couldn’t work through.

It probably would have made him sick. It probably would have been enough to send him in a rage; would have been enough to make him sever their friendship long ago, but he didn’t have the heart.

He couldn’t feel the extremity.

Fate not only turned her back, not only walked away, but made a target of Lance to work against. 

He doesn't remember a day actually seeing Allura since that ugly double date. Now with the invitation crumpled and wrinkled and flawed in his hand, he’s wondering if such a felicitous venue would be wise to reintroduce himself to Allura. 

To the happy couple.

He unfolds the invitation and walks over to the windowsill. The wind is high and whistling, but static silence rings through Lance’s head.

Should he go to the wedding? 

He doesn’t know whether he wants to be righteously angered or overwhelmingly relieved Keith didn’t ask him to be the best man. He doesn’t know if he should be silenced by his anxiety, or demanding in his curiosity by how many people, and which kind of people are going to come.

Is he going to be the most contentious presence there? 

He doesn’t know if he wants to think about it at all.

He doesn’t know if he wants to rob himself the opportunity to see his friends. 

Maybe this, the first thing, from all things, can be what it takes to excite Lance again.

He decides to go.

From the deepest corner of the spare room closet, Lance pulls a stale-smelling suit. He lets it air out for a full week before getting it refitted. He lets out the pant cuffs, sews different cufflinks, then slips on a solid tie to complete his look. He shines his leather shoes. He cleans himself up, bringing out someone he hasn’t seen in earnest for… a while. 

Bringing a plus one would be too much of a bother. Bringing a gift beside what he bought on the registry would be too much of a hassle. Brining any sort of pretense for joy would be too cumbersome, so he brings himself. Exactly as he is.

He knows it isn’t much.

He isn’t expecting much.

He takes his seat on Allura’s side, smiling and shaking hands with her family. Everyone’s dressed better than their Sunday best and immediately, Lance is regretting even keeping the invitation out. He should have thrown the paper out the moment he saw it in the mail.

He should have stayed in his grey where he belongs.

He never should have let himself come to this wedding.

But he goes through the motions.

He chats with Allura’s family, wrenching out the widest smile he can for them. He even moseys to Keith’s side, schmoozing with his family and _Shiro, what is he doing here-_ before he has to sit back down.

Then they all take their seats. 

Then the music begins.

Each pair that walks down the aisle only reminds him of the final couple to come. The ring bearer is so precious, and the flower girl nearly spills all her petals in her skipping, and if Lance had the energy to, he’d be jealous of her, too. 

He wants her energy. He wants his smile, like the smiles of everyone around him, to be genuine.

This wedding needs to be over.

Then the Canon plays.

Everyone turns. The tears are falling. The cameras click.

Allura glows as always.

For a half-second, she catches Lance’s eyes in the audience and smiles something unique just for him. 

She is resplendent.

She moves like something divinely touched.

And Lance swallows his final regret. The moment she makes it to the alter to grasp Keith’s awaiting hands, he books it out of there. Bile catches in his throat and he led himself to the darkest manifestation of his nightmares.

He has no one but himself to blame.

He has nowhere else to go but out.

He runs away, runs away, runs _away_ from that scene and Lance knows and _doesn’t know what exactly he was thinking._

His grey doesn’t belong in color like that.

He doesn’t need to see Allura’s hands grasped in another’s.

He doesn’t need his mind still screaming with the want, and the winter, and the hope- so Lance runs.

He’s going crazy.

_He’ll tear himself apart._

But he can’t let himself keep fighting for Allura’s love.

In his mind, he sees Allura in pristine white satin, almost perfectly matching her dress. She sees her glowing and radiant, overwhelmed to tears with Keith’s hands over hers.

He sees her always choosing Keith. 

He finally accepts his defeat.

As he sits panting, disheveled and frantic on the roadside curb, he finally backs himself down. 

He’s going to finally let himself give up.

It doesn’t make himself hurt any less. Or want her any less. Or frantic any less, but it makes his mind quieter.

In his mind, Lance can never see himself wishing Allura was _Keith’s_ , but he’s going to make himself see the winter lifting.

He’s going to bring excitement to himself.

He’s going to stop fighting.


End file.
